


Underdog

by Rose_SK



Series: The Writing Corner Discord Bingo Event 2021 [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angry Lambert (The Witcher), Angst, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Bonding, Bullying, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Feral Lambert (The Witcher), Gen, Gen Prompt Bingo, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Minor Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Eskel (The Witcher), Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Violence, Physical Abuse, Pre-Canon, Swearing, Wolf School (The Witcher), Young Lambert (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28875633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_SK/pseuds/Rose_SK
Summary: A commotion interrupted their quiet dinner that evening. The doors to the dining hall flung open and revealed Vesemir dragging in one of the boys by the scruff of his neck. Aubry chortled at the sight.“And that is Lambert.”While most other boys and witchers in the dining hall returned their attention to their meal, Eskel and Geralt observed Lambert struggling against Vesemir’s grip. The boy was digging his feet in the ground, slapping at Vesemir’s arm, biting the older witcher, calling him a ‘cocksucking monsterfucker’, a ‘smelly cunt’ and, to Geralt’s hilarity, ‘uglier than a nekker’s wrinkly ballsack’.___OR Eskel takes a liking to the newest member of the School of the Wolf. Some brotherly bonding ensues.
Relationships: Eskel & Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: The Writing Corner Discord Bingo Event 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125518
Comments: 7
Kudos: 93





	Underdog

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first prompt fill for the Bingo Event organised by the lovely mods from The Writing Corner on Discord. The prompt was "sharing a bath". 
> 
> Please heed the tags. My descriptions of abuse are not too graphic, but I describe injuries in some detail. If that isn't your thing, please feel free to bypass this fic. Keep yourselves safe out there. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this first prompt fill :)

For the past thirteen years, ever since Eskel and Geralt first set out on the Path as fully-fledged witchers, the two brothers had observed the same ritual upon their return to Kaer Morhen at the beginning of winter. First of all, they would both have a bath in the hot springs to get rid of the dust and grime of the Path. After that would they fall into each other’s arms and get properly reacquainted after a year apart. Only once they had checked these two items off their list did Geralt and Eskel even consider showing their faces for dinner, where they would lay eyes upon the new recruits that the instructors and other witchers had dragged in over the previous months. 

They did not pinpoint every new face - that was nearly impossible. Eskel and Geralt did, however, make a conscious effort to memorise those new boys that the other more experienced witchers pointed out to them over dinner. There were Gunnar and Flosi, brothers from Skellige. The brothers were pointed out to Eskel and Geralt because it was exceptionally rare to have members of the same family in the same school. They would have to keep an eye on the brothers - they were more likely to rebel if they felt like their sibling was being unfairly treated. Then there was a young scrawny boy called Voltehre. Voltehre was a promising student, Aubry whispered to Eskel between two mouthfuls of watery stew. He had what the masters called an eidetic memory which meant that young Voltehre would memorise ‘Brother Albert’s Bestiary’ and ‘Fauna and Flora of the Northern Realms’ in record time. Not a bad skill to have and certainly one that would come in handy on the Path. Aubrey pointed out some other notable boys - Harold, a blacksmith’s son who was going onto his ten years already and was therefore older than average, but who would grow into a strong and physically powerful witcher. There was also Jensen, a reject from Ban Ard, and Jasper, the son of some Lord or other, an important man supposedly, not that Eskel would know. He did not get involved in politics. 

A commotion interrupted their quiet dinner that evening. The doors to the dining hall flung open and revealed Vesemir dragging in one of the boys by the scruff of his neck. Aubry chortled at the sight. 

“And that is Lambert.”

While most other boys and witchers in the dining hall returned their attention to their meal, Eskel and Geralt observed Lambert struggling against Vesemir’s grip. The boy was digging his feet in the ground, slapping at Vesemir’s arm,  _ biting  _ the older witcher, calling him a ‘cocksucking monsterfucker’, a ‘smelly cunt’ and, to Geralt’s hilarity, ‘uglier than a nekker’s wrinkly ballsack’. Aubry was openly laughing at Lambert’s antics, but one look from Barmin across the table wiped the cocky smile off Aubry’s face. Eskel and Geralt observed as Vesemir all but threw Lambert on a bench near the boy Voltehre, snapping at him to eat his dinner. Eskel and Geralt exchanged a look when they noticed the way Lambert flinched at the raised tone. 

“I’m not hungry,” the boy snarled in response.

“Then starve,” Barmin grated from where he was wolfing down his own meal, “Vesemir, stop molly-coddling the pup. If he dies of hunger that’s on him, not on us. One mouth less to feed.”

Barmin’s bluntness had stopped surprising Eskel and Geralt a long time ago, but the terrified look on Lambert’s face was sobering. He was staring at Barmin with wide uncertain eyes, fear written all over his features. A fear that was absent when he had described Vesemir as being uglier than a nekker’s testicles. Eskel wondered if Barmin had perhaps already taught the boy a lesson before. When Lambert noticed Geralt and Eskel staring at him, the horrified expression turned into an angry scowl. 

“What’re you looking at? Your mother fucked a snowman, shitface?”

Eskel cackled at the way Geralt spluttered in indignation at the insult. He had a feeling he would come to love that little rascal Lambert. 

__________

“So, this Lambert?” Eskel asked Vesemir later that evening when the older witcher was sharing a drink with Frank, Aubry, Barmin, Geralt and Eskel in the warm kitchen. “Where’d you find him? I want one too.”

“Trust me pup, you don’t,” Vesemir heaved a tired sigh as he downed his vodka in one long gulp, “saved his father from a nest of drowners, told him to give me the first thing he saw when he got home. Happened to be his son, but the drunk bastard didn’t seem all too bothered about letting Lambert go. The mother, on the other hand…”

“You’re growing soft in your old age, Vesemir.” Barmin pulled at his pipe and puffed out smoke circles in even breaths. “What this boy needs is discipline.”

“How do you suggest I do that?” Vesemir poured himself another mug of vodka. “Beating the attitude out of him? The boy’s father beat him everyday within an inch of his life. It’s all the kid knows.”

“Make him spend the night outside in the cold, oughta calm him down.”

“Those are cruel methods of a different time,” Vesemir dismissed the idea, to Eskel’s relief, “the pup will calm down. He’ll tire in training.”

“Or so you hope.”

Eskel’s heart went out for Lambert, not that he would admit it out loud. It was stupid to get attached to young boys who hadn’t passed the Trials yet, but Eskel had always had a heart bigger than the mountain Kaer Morhen stood on. Geralt would often reprimand him for this. That same evening, when the two witchers fell into bed together, Geralt levelled Eskel with  _ that  _ look.

“What?”

“Stay away from that Lambert kid.”

“Aww hell Geralt, you think I’m gonna replace you with a younger model already?” Eskel joked, hoping to deflect from the lecture Geralt was about to give him. “Don’t worry, you still got some good years in ya.”

“Shut up,” Geralt punched Eskel in the shoulder, not hard enough to bruise but with enough force to make his displeasure known, “you know what I mean. Kid’s scrawny and mentally broken. He’s not gonna make it past the first year of training.”

“You were a scrawny kid, too. You made it through two Trials of the Grasses,” Eskel pointed out matter-of-factly. Geralt rolled his eyes at him. 

“I was a special case.”

“You  _ are  _ a bit special, indeed.” Eskel grinned at the unimpressed look his comment earned him. 

“Eskel, I’m serious. Don’t get attached, alright? I don’t wanna be picking up the pieces when the kid dies.”

“ _ If  _ he dies,” Eskel corrected before propping himself up on one arm and catching Geralt’s lips in a heated kiss, “now less talking, more kissing.”

Geralt easily complied with that demand. 

__________

Eskel did not heed Geralt’s words. He had a feeling about this Lambert that the pup would end up surprising all of them. How could Eskel tell? He couldn’t, at least not with absolute certainty. And yet he felt confident that Lambert would survive the Trials, all of them, and more than that he would pass them with flying colours at that. Eskel did not agree with Geralt that Lambert was mentally and physically weak. He would bulk out, for one, especially in his teenage years. Besides, Lambert would soon realise that Kaer Morhen was better than being beaten by his drunken father - by a small margin, granted, but Eskel was hopeful. 

Even though Eskel was rooting for Lambert, he did so from a distance and in silence. Favouritism of any kind was not seen well at Kaer Morhen. If Eskel showed a special interest in Lambert, his classmates were likely to exclude him. No one got special favours at Kaer Morhen, not until they had proven themselves valuable members of the pack. More importantly, if Geralt got wind of it he would give Eskel an earful. 

Eskel kept an eye on Lambert, but he never got involved when the instructors were disciplining the kid a little too roughly to Eskel’s liking. He hesitated to get involved when the other boys started ganging up on Lambert. It was all part of his education. Lambert needed to learn that out there on the Path he would often be  _ by himself _ . He needed to learn that humans would sometimes chase him out of villages and towns by hurling stones at his head. Lambert had to toughen up, had to learn to defend himself and to be ruthless in the face of bullies and enemies alike. Eskel knew all of that, but it still tugged at his heartstrings to witness how cruel the young boys could be, both to Lambert and to each other. 

One day, after the first snow had fallen and covered the courtyard in a fine sheet of white, Eskel, Aubry and Geralt headed to the training yard to begin their warm up after the young recruits were done. Varin had already headed back into the keep after ordering the boys to put their training swords away. As Eskel, Geralt and their childhood friends Gweld and Frank approached the training yard, the excited noises of screaming boys chanting the name ‘Jasper’ over and over reached their ears. The commotion, as it turned out, was caused by a group of boys circling  _ something  _ the older witchers couldn’t make out at first. Eskel’s keen eyes spotted the young boy Voltehre near the weapon racks, looking both terrified and  _ guilty _ . 

“They’re pounding on one of the boys,” Frank remarked, his tone growing stern, “the runt Lambert.”

Aubry spat on the ground with disdain. “What a cowardly bunch. Pounding on the smallest one of the group.”

“Should we get involved?” Geralt asked, casting a side-glance at Eskel. There was no doubt in the latter’s mind. Without a word, Eskel headed towards the mob of boys and grabbed the biggest one by the scruff of the neck before pulling him away with enough force to send the boy flying on his ass. 

“Which of you is Jasper?” Eskel demanded to know, his tone calm but his glare speaking volumes. The young recruits stared at Eskel with wide eyes but none of them dared utter a word. Eskel heard Geralt, Aubry and Frank step up behind him and the four of them clearly looked intimidating enough that one of the boys pointed at the culprit Jasper. Eskel turned around to look at the boy he had tossed aside mere seconds earlier. 

“Explain yourself!” he grated, his tone breaching no room for argument. The boy Jasper felt brave, it seemed, when he shot Eskel a vicious glare. Geralt sniffed in disdain behind Eskel. 

“Speak, boy!” Geralt snapped, stepping up and pulling Jasper onto his feet roughly. “If you won’t talk to us, perhaps you’ll answer to Master Varin or Master Barmin.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Eskel noticed the boy Voltehre shift his weight from one foot to another nervously. A pained groan tumbled past Lambert’s lips as he tried to sit up. A concerned frown was etched on Eskel's face as he knelt next to Lambert to better assess the damage that had been done. The other boys stepped away from the older witcher in fear. The pup looked worse for wear. His bloodied lip and brow only added to his feral look. The way the boy held his sides and winced everytime he breathed filled Eskel with rage. 

“Can you stand?” he asked Lambert, who merely stared at him with wide terrified eyes shimmering with unshed tears. After a brief silence, Lambert shook his head. 

“What the ever flying  _ fuck  _ is going on?” Varin barked across the courtyard, pulling a general shocked gasp from the group of boys behind Eskel. “Jasper? Are you causing trouble again?”

“N-no, sir,” the boy lied, although there was an unmistakable tremor in his voice as he met Varin’s unforgiving gaze. 

“Yes he did,” the shy boy Voltehre blurted out. Eskel noticed Lambert flinch. “Jasper was choking me, master Varin. Lambert… Lambert told him to stop. Then Jasper started beating Lambert up, sir.”

Varin’s yellow eyes flickered between Voltehre, Lambert and Jasper in turn before resting on the culprit. 

“Is that true, boy?” 

“No-”

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” Varin bellowed before pointing at the older witchers, “you four, what did you see?” 

“We came just as that boy was beating up that kid,” Frank explained calmly while pointing at Lambert, his words earning him a noncommittal hum from Varin. The master had clearly heard enough. 

“All of you think that pounding on one of your own is fun? Huh?” Varin’s words were met with silence broken only by Lambert’s wounded moans. “For your efforts everyone who had a hand in beating up that boy will run the Killer. Maybe that’ll knock some sense into some of your heads, or at the very least rid us of the weakest members of the pack. Eskel, take care of the boy. Geralt, Frank, Aubry, get back to training.”

Eskel turned his attention on Lambert, who had pinched his eyes shut in an effort to stem the flow of tears threatening to run down his cheeks. He was not very successful at the endeavour, but Eskel did not remark on that. Instead, he lowered a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. Lambert  _ flinched _ , his eyes snapping open and staring at Eskel with nothing but dread and wariness reflected in the chocolate orbs.

“Come pup, I’ll help you stand up.” Lambert swallowed thickly but nodded. His left eye was beginning to swell up and turn a dark shade of purple. “What hurts?”

“Everything,” Lambert groaned. 

“Come now.” Eskel gently wrapped his hand around Lambert’s far too skinny arm, pulling him up until Lambert stood on shaky legs. “Can you walk?” 

Lambert’s jaw tightened as he took a few steps forward. It was obvious that the boy was in pain and the mere act of walking caused him more suffering than necessary. Eskel briefly considered carrying the boy into the keep, but he had a feeling that his well-meaning intentions would not go down well. Another idea struck Eskel. 

“Hey, boy!” he called out to Voltehre, who perked up at being addressed. Eskel waved him over. “Come over here. Crutch your friend.”

Voltehre was quick to obey and Eskel smiled softly as he watched Lambert lean heavily against the taller boy. Voltehre supported Lambert’s weight easily - it truly wasn’t that hard seeing as Lambert weighed next to nothing. Voltehre cast a look over his shoulder at Eskel. 

“Good job, boy. Carry him inside, I’ll guide you.”

Eskel did not miss the disapproving look Geralt shot him across the training yard. Eskel flipped him off as he followed the two boys inside.

__________

“Thanks boy, I’ll take it over from here,” Eskel dismissed Voltehre as they stepped into the hot springs, “oh, and don’t mention this place to anyone you understand?”

“I won’t, master Eskel,” Voltehre promised in a small tone, but the boy made no move to leave as requested. “Master Eskel? Is Lambert gonna be alright?” 

A warm feeling unfurled in Eskel’s chest. He recognised Geralt in the boy Voltehre, a shy kid clinging onto the first and only friend he made in this dump of a school. And similarly, Lambert coming to Voltehre’s defence was something Eskel could relate to as well. The amount of times he had taken the blame for his and Geralt’s pranks so Geralt would escape getting his hide tanned by Vesemir’s belt - Eskel had lost count. 

“Your friend will be fine. He’s tougher than he looks. Now off with you, dinner will be served soon.” 

Eskel separated the two boys and kept a firm hold on Lambert when it became apparent that the boy couldn’t stand without additional support. Voltehre bit his lip, his gaze following Lambert with concern. 

“I’ll steal some bread for you Lambert. And I’ll let you sleep in the bed near the fireplace tonight if you like.”

“Whatever,” was all the injured boy said in response. 

“Go!” Eskel urged Voltehre, his tone growing more severe, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Voltehre eventually did as he was told, leaving Eskel and Lambert alone. Eskel wasted no time getting to work. He knelt before Lambert and helped the boy out of his clothes. He worked quickly, mostly so Lambert didn’t have a chance to feel uncomfortable about being undressed by a stranger. Eskel also left Lambert’s smallclothes on so the boy could hold onto an ounce of modesty, at least. Even though the pup would soon learn that privacy and modesty were two concepts he would quickly have to forget at Kaer Morhen, Eskel decided that they did not need to make the situation even more awkward for the boy. The older witcher kept a close eye on the boy’s reactions, however. It was not unheard of for physically abused kids to have witnessed other kinds of abuse as well. At the first sign of discomfort, Eskel would accommodate Lambert’s needs. 

But the boy had yet to voice a complaint. In fact, he had yet to say anything at all. 

“Get into the pool, I’ll join you.” 

“I can wash myself,” Lambert argued weakly.

“I’m sure you can. But you’ve got several broken ribs and the left shoulder is dislocated. Yes, I noticed that,” Eskel added when Lambert looked at him with wide eyes, “I’ll have to pop the joint back into its socket.”

Eskel quickly discarded his own clothes - leaving his smallclothes on also for Lambert’s benefit - before joining the boy in one of the pools. The hot springs were a jealously guarded secret among the more experienced witchers. It was not until Geralt and Eskel had survived their fifth year on the Path that Vesemir revealed the locations of the hot springs to them. 

“First let’s look at that shoulder.” Eskel gently wrapped his fingers around Lambert’s skinny wrist. Lambert winced at the touch, a reaction that did not go unnoticed by Eskel. “Hey kid, listen. I won’t hurt you, alright? But the shoulder needs to go back in.”

“I know.”

“On the count of three,” Eskel announced, getting ready to pop the joint back into its socket. “One… three.”

Eskel worked quickly, using the element of surprise to catch Lambert off guard, and Lambert’s shoulder was soon back in its natural position even though the action pulled a startled yelp from the boy. Lambert instinctively used his good arm to massage the now sore left shoulder, hissing a curse between clenched teeth when the action sent a sharp pain shooting through his sides as the broken ribs were jostled. Eskel ruffled his hair good-heartedly. 

“All done, pup. Now I’ll wash the blood off your face.”

“I told you,” Lambert snapped, “that I don’t fucking need any help to wash myself.”

“Shut up and stay still,” Eskel grabbed a cloth and dipped it into the hot water, “I told you, you’ve got broken ribs. I’ll scrub the blood off your face and check if the cuts need stitches.”

“They won’t,” Lambert assured Eskel, resigning himself to the older witcher taking a cloth to his face and doing a good job at staying still even though Eskel was scrubbing at his fresh wounds, “my father used to beat me harder than that.”

“Stay still,” Eskel reminded him, his fingers holding onto Lambert’s chin as he wiped the dry blood off his lips, “did your father also break ribs and dislocated shoulders?”

“The shoulder’s new,” Lambert admitted, his tone growing cold, “the broken ribs, not so new.”

“Hm.” Eskel moved the cloth to the bruised brow, keeping the pressure light on the hematoma. “Why’d you do it? Take the beating instead of Voltehre?”

Lambert paused, barking out a curse when Eskel pushed down too hard on his swollen eye. The latter apologised softly. 

“Voltehre, he… his parents were nice to him, he’s never known anyone beating him,” Lambert eventually admitted, “I’m used to it. Nothing can be as bad as the beatings my father gave me and my ma.”

“It’s very noble of you to have stepped in,” Eskel threw the now bloodied cloth to one side, but his grip on Lambert’s chin only tightened as he forced the boy to meet his gaze, “noble gestures like these can get you killed on the Path. Be wise who you take a beating for in the future.”

“Voltehre is worth it! He’s my friend.”

“I don’t doubt that. All I’m saying is choose your friends wisely when you’re older. We’re witchers, not martyrs. Very few people  _ truly _ want to be our friends.” 

Lambert’s eyes narrowed at Eskel’s words, his expression challenging as he met the older witcher’s amber eyes.

“You telling me that you wouldn’t take a beating for Snowflake?” 

Eskel swallowed thickly. Of course he would take a beating for Geralt, what was one more after all? More importantly, Eskel would jump in front of an arrow to save Geralt and the reverse was also true. Eskel and Geralt had been friends for nearly three decades, lovers for nearly two. It was not the same as what Lambert had done for a boy he could only have met a handful of months ago. 

“That’s different-”

“Why? Because you’re ploughing each other?” Lambert remarked, his eyes lighting up with a fire that Eskel would one day come to dread whenever he saw it reflected in the feral pup’s eyes. 

“Cheeky little shit,” Eskel hissed as he let go of Lambert’s chin, “wounds don’t need stitching. Master Vesemir will give you a potion for the broken bones. They’ll heal quicker.”

“Oh yeah, old man’ll feed me one of them witcher potions that are deadly to humans? Get rid of me quicker, is that it? Make it look like a fucking accident?” 

Eskel pulled himself out of the pool and went to grab two towels from the cabinet at the other end of the humid cave. He tossed one in Lambert’s direction before drying himself off. 

“Not a witcher potion. We’re not out to get you.”

“Yeah, sure. I suppose those damn Trials everyone is talking about will do the job just fine.”

Eskel heard Lambert hiss and curse as he hoisted himself out of the pool with some difficulty. Eskel would’ve helped the boy, but he had a feeling that Lambert  would rather drown in the springs than debase himself even more than he already had. Eskel decided against it. 

“Stop whining and get dressed. Supper should be served soon. Don’t want to be going to bed on an empty stomach.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Lambert mumbled under his breath, but nothing escaped Eskel’s keen hearing. Rather than argue with the boy, Eskel let Lambert have the last word. The two got dressed in silence, Lambert a lot slower than he ought to be because of his injuries. “Hey, Eskel, isn’t it?”

“What is it, pup?” 

“Precisely about that. Don’t call me pup, ever. I- I don’t like it. Alright?” Lambert fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he anxiously waited for Eskel’s answer. “I’ll… I won't tell anyone about these stupid hot springs if you stop calling me pup. If you don't stop the whole school will know and you won't have a secret place to plough your snowman boyfriend anymore.”

Eskel snorted. The kid knew what he wanted. Eskel appreciated that. His gut feeling telling him that Lambert would end up surprising everyone, Eskel included probably, was growing by the day. 

“Sure thing, little wolf.”

Eskel  _ did  _ get an earful from Geralt that evening, but his lover’s protests died on his lips when Eskel pulled him closer and locked their lips in a passionate kiss.

“You just wait, Geralt. Betcha 50 crowns the kid’ll become one of the best godsdamn witchers on the Continent.”

“Oh,  _ you’re on _ . You always have shitty luck when it comes to bets, anyway. That’s what you get for putting all your money on the underdog.”

Eskel smiled a secret smile.  _ Just you wait, Geralt. Just you wait. _


End file.
